the magic of deep questions

I first met Jonathan when he sent me a message that was mostly a series of deep questions about spirituality, creativity, and the meaning of life.

He said he was sorry if he was jumping in too quickly but that he hated small talk.

It was a solid move.

Because deep questions are my favorite.

They open spaces for realness.

They’re hard to fake (because once you ask, you have to be prepared to hold the space + receive the answers).

They say: I want to know the real you. I care about what matters to you. I’m here for the real shit, and I want the real truth.

Done well + asked sincerely, deep questions are loving invitations + acts of hospitality that welcome the other + receive them with care.

I realized at some point that I could create more realness, depth, and magic in my own life by asking deep questions -- by opening space for people to show me who they really are + what really matters to them.

And I’ve found that when I ask (+ hold the space for real answers), most people accept the invitation.

Most people have something to say.

Most people crave realness, connection, and a deeper thing.

I know I do.

Deep questions are among the best gifts I’ve ever received.

I can think of questions that have opened my world, changed my life, and made me feel loved in ways that took my breath away.

(And years after that first message from Jonathan, deep questions remain a core foundation of our relationship).

So I try to always bring my deep questions to the world + to my own life.

Because there’s so much magic to uncover if we’re willing to invite it forward.

If we're willing to ask.

thoughts on processing the hard moments.

It’s normal + okay to have less to give in hard moments.

This may seem like an obvious point.

But it’s a reminder I often need.

In the past few days, for instance, I haven’t done much except consume the news, process my feelings about the news, and do the basics of self-care to try to ground + recalibrate my nervous system, which is all off-kilter because of the news.

Yesterday, I was feeling a little frustrated + anxious around how unproductive this seemed.

Until I remembered that caring for ourselves in hard moments is a big job.

This week, my nervous system needed more care + my emotions needed more space + my body needed more grounding.

And that took time + energy away from other things.

Still, it was a solid investment + use of my resources.

Because it matters that we tend to the basics. And it’s okay for priorities + expectations to shift to meet us where we are -- in the hard moments + messy realness of our actual lives.

I hope you’re giving yourself the space you need to breathe, rest, and feel deeply this week.

Take good care, friends

Lessons from Business: Two Years In

I started my business a couple years ago, and when I took some time recently to review, comparing where I am to where I started, I realized I feel pretty good about what I’ve built, what I’ve offered, and who I’ve become along the way.

There’s lot of growth + learning still ahead (as always), but for now, here are some of the lessons I’ve learned so far in this early breaking-through stage of business-building:

1) The business isn’t the thing. It’s the container for the thing.

The *actual* thing is the work + art + magic (that my business holds, supports, and facilitates). When I’ve mistaken my business for the thing itself, it hasn’t gone well. Remembering the actual function of business (+ where it belongs in the matrix of work + life) helps me ground into what matters + then direct my attention accordingly.

2) Building a business (at the least the kind I want to build) takes time.

In my experience, business is a slow + organic build. Because business is an alive thing built on relationships + networks nurtured over time (supported by qualities + skill-sets + sensitivities developed over time). So nothing’s gone wrong when it takes longer than we thought. Growing things require a lot of nurture + a lot of patience.

3) Business is a call + response relationship with the world + with others + with self.

So much of business-building is trying something + watching what happens. How do my people respond? How do I respond? How does this feel? What happens in the world around me when I do this thing (compared to that one)?

Tracking these layers of responsiveness has been key. For instance, I began deepening + developing my art in response to the excitement + interest I received when I shared some of my just-for-fun paintings. Another time, I offered a couple of group programs after I noticed I was feeling a little stale + stagnant doing just one-to-one work, which opened up a whole new set of possibilities in my work.

Listening, noticing, and responding (and then doing that on repeat) is what business is all about.

4) Marketing should feel good.

It should also probably feel uncomfortable + terrifying. But it should never feel gross.

There’s all sorts of advice out there about how to sell + market, and I spent way too much time trying to figure out the “right” strategy. Ultimately, I decided that I was only going to market in ways that felt good in my body + right in my soul.

If people choose to work with me, I want it to be because of the depth + clarity of my signal, not the cleverness or pushiness of my marketing.

I learned too that marketing isn’t just about promoting my work + making money. It’s about being the person I want to be in the world. It’s about clearly transmitting what I have to offer in ways that (I hope) make people feel good + connected + hopeful, regardless of whether they take me up on my offer or not.

It's a beautiful process of connecting with my people + sharing what matters to me + getting to know people + making no-pressure invitations. And, at the deepest level, I want that to feel good, life-affirming, and coherent for all parties involved.

5) Business matters.

There’s something life-affirming about entrepreneurship + small/local business. These smaller, more direct models of commerce are spaces where we can share our values, shape culture, prioritize + uplift what capitalism normally devalues (like art + care + connection), and imagine new possibilities.

Our businesses + entrepreneurial endeavors are an opportunity to do so much good in the world. And that's a beautiful thing worth doing.

To my fellow entrepreneurs: I’m cheering for you!

And also sending gratitude to everyone who’s cheered me on along way too .

Art + Activism

For the past two months, I’ve been absorbed in an art project.

The creative process (+ medium I’m working with, digital collage) is reminding me that art isn’t so much about creating something from nothing. It’s about tinkering with what we have, bringing pieces together, exploring the edges and spaces between, overlaying different visions, ideas, and possibilities, and being resourceful with our raw materials.

Art is not a thing that’s separate from where I am or what I have.

And what I have is more than enough to get started.

This makes me think of activism too (another theme of the summer) and all the ways art + activism -- as practice, strategy, and being -- are linked.

Both evoke visions of beauty + call forward possibility. Both disrupt + subvert the status quo. Both summon our deep humanity. Both are projects in story-telling + meaning-making. Both are about creation at their core.

And the more I see this art-activism connection, the more I recognize that what keeps me stuck, frozen, and not moving forward in my art often parallels what keeps me stuck, frozen, and not moving forward in my attempts at activism: perfectionism, fear of failure + mistakes + discomfort, disconnection from embodied knowing, and self-doubt around my capacity to create beauty + do things that matter in the world.

In that mode, I’m missing what we’re actually doing in both projects: Starting where we are. Working with what we have. Holding the vision. Taking small but steady steps in that direction.

The path forward isn’t perfection; it’s devotion. It’s not about burning all our fuel to jump over the chasm between Here + There, bypassing everything in between. It’s about building a bridge, one stone at a time.

Whether it's a painting, a movement, or a better world, we create by bringing together what works better together than alone: our raw materials + resources, our visions + voices, our power + our imaginations.

How might you make good + creative + life-affirming use of yours?

White Supremacy, Fear, and Committing to Anti-Racism

Thinking today about all the ways anti-racism work asks us (white people) to reckon with + work through fear.

Because white supremacy conditions us into fear:

- Fear of black people + black spaces.

- Fear of breaking with (the power + safety of) whiteness.

- Fear of conflict + losing people.

- Fear of getting it wrong + making mistakes.

- Fear of discomfort + shame.

This fear isn’t our fault. We didn’t choose it.

But we are responsible for it. And we have a moral imperative to do our own inner work to diffuse it.

Because that fear can (+ does) get people killed.

And beyond that, it keeps us quiet + small + out of the game.

I’ve seen the ways my own fear causes me to lean away in ways that disconnect me from people + spaces + conversations.

If I’m uncomfortable + afraid in black spaces, for instance, I’m turning away, physically + energetically. I’m not present. I’m not connecting with people. And I’m certainly not available to use my power + exercise my agency in allyship + support.

I also feel how fear often shows up as avoidance + perfectionism -- as not doing anything because I’m afraid of getting it wrong (+ the shame I’ll experience when I do).

And if I let that fear run unchecked, it will likely prompt me to look the other way when there’s shady shit going down -- on my facebook feed, at the Thanksgiving table, or in my neighborhood.

So when I think about what it means for me to be anti-racist in this moment, so much of it is about what I do with this fear -- and my commitment to the inner work it takes to deprogram the myriad of ways white supremacy has conditioned me to be afraid.

This is some of what’s helped so far:

- Getting grounded + connected in my body (so that I’m aware of what’s happening in my somatic + emotional + nervous system in real time).

- Getting rooted in my commitment to love -- how much I love my community + my neighborhood + our collective struggle for human rights + dignity.

- Feeling fear + leaning in/speaking up/taking action anyway.

- Remembering who I want to be in the world right now.

- Plugging into the vision for the world we’re building together + my devotion to *that*.

Love + solidarity, friends.

Meeting the Moment

Thinking about the police murdering George Floyd in Minneapolis + Amy Cooper weaponizing her whiteness in New York + all the ways the black community (+ other folks of color) have been disproportionately affected by the pandemic (+ how that’s shaped our national response to it).

And how this moment calls for truth-telling + public mourning + meaningful action.

(Living in a white supremacy means it’s always time for truth-telling + collective grief + meaningful action).

As I’ve thought about what to say + how to say it + what to do + how to be (as a white person) right now, I keep coming back to this:

Truth-telling matters.

I’ve seen lots of people say that speaking out + telling the truth isn’t enough.

And they’re absolutely right. It’s not enough.

But let’s not confuse “not enough” with “doesn’t matter”.

I believe it’s important to say things like:

- The United States is a racist police state + that’s fucked up.

- White supremacy is real + it kills people.

- As white people, we need to get really honest about the ways white supremacy is alive in us + how our whiteness ties us to white supremacy + how we use/ participate in/benefit from that connection in ways that hurt people.

- Black lives matter.

Not because saying any of this absolves us from responsibility. Not because it’s enough. Not because it’s never been said (and said *way* better) by others.

But because it’s an act of solidarity.

Because ideas matter. They create culture + build worlds + form community. And it matters that we speak + share + amplify good ones.

Because in a world where lots of people deny (+ stand in active opposition to) what’s real, we have a moral imperative to tell the truth. Loudly + consistently + powerfully.

So to my fellow white people who feel frozen right now because it feels like nothing you say or do is enough: Acknowledge that it isn’t. And then say one true thing + do one helpful thing anyway.

Speak truth *and* follow it up with meaningful action.

(Lots of smart people have ideas for that. I’ll share some of them below).

Let's keep going.

Making Space for Grief

I took my time yesterday scrolling through the names + one-phrase tributes of 1,000 (of the 100,000) people we’ve lost in the United States to the pandemic (published in the NY Times).

I read about competitive athletes + adventurous spirits + faithful members of congregations + fashionistas + gentle souls + choir directors + purple heart recipients + artists + immigrants + survivors of cancer, the Holocaust, WWII, + 9/11 -- people who loved their families + had a zest for life + loved seeing the full moon rise over the ocean + possessed a mystic’s direct sense of wonder + oneness.

The day before that, I was at my grandfather’s funeral, listening to stories (most I’d heard, some I hadn’t), crying with my family, and saying goodbye.

Today, I’m thinking about how much grief matters (personal + collective) -- and all the ways it asks us to take our time + make room for memory + gather around story + be with the overwhelming magnitude of what we’ve lost + find ways to keep going.

Grief is equal parts devastation + awe.

It’s an experience of unbearable twistiness in the pit of our stomachs.

And it’s a vast ocean of relief.

Twistiness because the loss is agonizing + relief because we’re telling the truth about it.

Grief is a skill I need to be the human I want to be in this time + place -- a human who feels + loves + remembers + carries the echoes of the past forward, a human who’s an active participant in the cycles of life + death that are home for all of us.

I believe that grieving well is a spiritual imperative of a human life.

Because grief plugs us into love (the kind we feel in our bones rather than understand with our minds).

It supports us in becoming grounded humans + good ancestors.

It reminds us why we’re here: to love + feel + experience + not look away + take this weird human thing as deep as we can.

Grief is a power + vitality + truth the world needs.

And I hope we all find ways to continue to lean in to what it invites + gives + teaches + asks of us.

Creating Space for Feeling

A couple years ago, I had a little bit of a health scare after doctors found a benign tumor on my pituitary gland. It wasn’t a massive deal, but even so, it produced a fair amount of stress + challenge + anxiety + stuff to deal with.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that time in light of our collective global situation -- and about all the ways our grief asks us to be present, our fear asks us to be intentional, and our overwhelm asks us to tend to what’s in front of us now (and about how much energy that takes).

During my health scare, I did a pretty okay job dealing with the tasks + feelings + appointments + uncertainties one at a time.

But there was one day when I lost my grip -- when the fear + overwhelm + the bigness of the situation came rushing in beyond what I could sort through in the moment (it was the day I received the medical bill for my first MRI).

I was at work, so I was tempted to try to shove it down and keep it moving, but I had the presence of mind to know I needed space. So I escaped to a basement storage closet where I cried for 5 minutes (exactly what I needed).

All of this feels a lot like now. I mostly have it together. I mostly have what I need to make it through this time, even as it asks a lot.

But every so often, overwhelm happens, a wave of grief hits, or I just get scared, and I need whatever the equivalent is (in that moment) of 5 minutes alone in the basement storage closet.

I’ve been trying to remember to give myself whatever that is -- to interrupt my day to feel my feelings and take care of myself in the hard moments.

On default, I try to talk myself out of this and come up with all kinds of reasons why I have it better than others and therefore don’t have the right to be upset + scared + overwhelmed.

But that’s not how it works.

Our feelings are not something we have to earn, justify, or even understand. They’re not something we can calculate or explain with linear formulas + predictions.

They just want to be felt. And taking time + space to feel them (+ take care of ourselves while we do) is a necessary + important thing.

However this is going for you, I hope you’re creating space + permission for whatever is rising up to be met in this moment. That in itself is an act of love + care.

Small Steps Forward

I did a new thing this year.

I taught my first ever live class. It was a 5-week adventure with a lovely group of humans, and we just wrapped yesterday.

Today, I’m feeling grateful it happened + I’m also thinking about the power of doing new things.

Teaching a class wasn’t something I imagined doing before I did it.

It felt too big + wild + nerve-wracking to talk to a group without a script, to hold space for the unexpected, to teach on deep + unwieldy subjects.

But the great thing about being human is that our horizons of possibility shift when we take small steps toward a future we know is right for us but can’t see yet.

It matters that we keep stepping in the general direction of goodness + possibility, even when we can’t imagine what’s waiting for us on the other side.

In these moments of uncertainty + chaos + mystery we’re all in together, I think this matters more than ever..

...Continuing to track with the compass points that keep us grounded + coherent.

...Aligning ourselves with what matters most.

...Staying connected to our dreams.

...Finding ways to keep hope alive.

...Feeling for what continues to call us forward.

Because we still need goodness + possibility + creativity + flourishing. And all of those things are still calling to us, even in the hard moments.

And I hope we all keep listening + responding (as bandwidth allows) to all the ways life continues to call us forward into vision + power + possibility.

What to Do When it Feels Hard

I’m not always sure what to do with the sad + scary stuff happening in the world.

I got sucked into a vortex of bad news last night + woke up this morning with the energy of my nightmares still sparking in my nervous system.

The only thing I know to do in moments like these is try to come back + come down -- to the ground, to my body, to an immediate experience + direct encounter with life + self + truth.

So I climbed the stairs to my attic (when I would have preferred to stay in bed + scroll through my phone + generally numb out) to hang out with the ancestors, sit with my feelings, light some candles, and feel my body breathing.

Later, I sat in silence with a human I trust + remembered what it feels like to not be alone -- to be present + connected + in it with another person, just sharing space on the planet together.

There have been a lot of what-the-fuck-is-happening moments in recent history. Lots of moments when I felt devastated + terrified + lost. Lots of moments when I saw depths of rage + hatred inside me I didn’t know I was capable of.

And in those moments, I try to turn to the stuff that reminds me who I am, why I’m here, and what life is for.

I move my body + remember what aliveness feels like.

I blast good music + feel it pull me somewhere good.

I look at art + remember that humans are capable of beauty + creativity + weirdness that can take your breath away.

I take extra care to look people in the eye + smile, let cars into traffic, and generally bring whatever measure of goodness + grace + kindness I can muster that day.

I reach for magic + mystery.

I treasure awe + remember that it’s my spiritual oxygen.

I learn something new (because as long as I’m alive on this planet, it’s my job to keep exploring + growing + discovering).

I cry + laugh + dance.

I remember that it’s normal + okay to have hard days. I remember that grief + rage are necessary. I remember that I’m not alone. I remember that what I do matters.

I remember that I’m still here, we’re still here, and that’s a wonderful thing.

The Wisdom of my Past Self

I have this tendency of judging my past self - holding her mistakes against her, blaming her for not being further along, shaming her for not knowing things sooner, and criticizing her choices, worldview, and way of being (while also smugly believing I’m way more evolved than she was).

I can be super condescending to my past self.

But a week ago, I was looking at some photos of my younger self (like the two below), and I felt her jump up and out of these photos to push back and take me on.

She got a little sharp with me.

She said: No actually, I’m amazing, and you need an attitude adjustment. Did you forget how hard I worked to figure all this out? How much adversity I overcame? For you? How much I sacrificed and risked to create the groundwork for what you’re doing and who you’re becoming now? How about a little gratitude?

She told me that she knew what she was doing, and that she thought she did most of it pretty damn well and that maybe I should mind my own business, worry about myself, and do the work that’s mine to do now rather than futuresplaining at her.

It shook me.

She was absolutely right, and I made a commitment to her in that moment to work with rather than against her and give her the respect her deserved.

Because my past selves are beloved ancestors, not shameful, lesser versions of me.

It made me think: how might I extend grace and hospitality to all of my selves, all parts of me? And what might it mean to be in solidarity and partnership with myself? To be on my own side and have my own back - not just now, but across all dimensions of time and space?

Because, as with anything (and as I’m learning over and over again), love just works better than judgement.

Tiny Steps Past the Impossible

There’s power in doing things our brains told us we could never do.

But these impossible things don’t have to be immense, gargantuan tasks! They can be tiny.

Here's a tiny impossible thing I did yesterday, for instance:

I edited a video to include a graphic with some theme music.

That’s right, y'all.

I hope you are super impressed by my ingenuitive talent and technological virtuosity.

It was an important lesson, though, in noticing that this tiny step did basically the same thing in my brain as much larger and scarier leaps I've taken in the past.

So this is what happened.

Someone challenged me to polish up the videos I'm making for my free storytelling training next week.

Immediately, I was like, no I am absolutely not doing this.

Because I would have to learn a new thing and spend all this time and energy figuring it out. And what if after all of that, I couldn't even get it how I wanted. And then I'd feel like a failure. Plus, it’s such a small thing; would it even matter?

But I could see it pretty much right away: all of these thoughts were just automatic responses from my brain as it tried to fortify the walls of impossibility that were starting to shake in the rumblings of newfound creativity, curiosity, and possibility.

And this is why it mattered that I spent two hours figuring out how to add 5 second of music and a graphic to my videos:

Because it put a crack in the solid, stone wall of “nope, not possible” that lives in my brain.

Doing impossible things is like guerrilla warfare (or nonviolent direct action) for the liberation of possibility and freedom of movement in my own self.

If I can interrupt my brain before it automatically shuts down a new, scary, unknown thing, I can start to change everything about how I live my life, step into the world, and create what I want.

And low-stakes situations are perfect ways to do this.

So what impossible thing could you do today? What possibility has your brain written off as an automatic “no” that you might reclaim?

Doing this impossible thing might not "matter" in a linear sense, but I will tell you: it's a delicious and deeply satisfying thing to feel walls of impossibility crumble to the ground in your own self.

Letting Go of Stories

More and more, I’m seeing how much my growth is determined by my willingness to allow my stories to grow and change with me.

There are the stories that are (and were always) just trash and need to go (“I’m not good enough”; “this is impossible”; etc.).

And then there are the stories that at one time inspired forward motion and expanded possibility but are now hindering growth and maintaining a not-so-great status quo.

I’ve witnessed the clearest, most profound examples of this in my domestic violence advocacy work.

Often, when I first connected with a new client, they felt confused and murky about what was happening and disconnected from their inner knowing and embodied truth.

They knew something was wrong but didn’t have language for it. They believed the abuse was their fault or that they could have done something to prevent the violence. They blamed themselves.

And in that space, a big part of my job was gently helping them see what was actually happening (talking through cycles of abuse, gaslighting, abusive tactics and mentality, etc.) and then getting them to a place of believing some version of this thought:

I’m a victim of domestic violence.

Because this is a thought that - together with hope, strategy, and support - saves lives.

I’ve seen this story bring explosive clarity and immense relief, motivate people to get to safety, light fires of catalytic change, and break open new worlds of possibility.

And…

It’s also a story that has a limited shelf life in terms of usefulness.

Because if a story like this settles into a conclusion or hardens into an identity - rather than continues to evolve - the results usually aren’t so great.

(This is one reason why ongoing healing work is often so essential after abuse or trauma - because the stories that - perhaps literally - saved our lives aren’t always so helpful on the other side).

The new, more useful story might be something like: I’m a survivor and thriver; I have the power to heal; my story is just beginning; and I get to decide what I create next.

In a space of safety and healing, these thoughts can grow deep roots to create a flourishing garden of new possibility.

All to say, sometimes our helpful stories are helpful forever. Awesome.

And sometimes, they’re not.

Just because a story was helpful, supportive, or even life-saving doesn’t mean it needs to be a once-and-for-all conclusion.

Sometimes, stories expire. And that’s okay.

We can thank them for their service and then let them go.

Stories that saved you a year ago might now be preventing you from growing.

Stories that once launched you to new horizons of possibility might need some editing or an added chapter today.

A story that gave you hope and propelled you forward a decade ago might now be killing parts of your soul.

So what are those stories for you?

Which ones are ready to be released, and which ones are calling you to new horizons?

Where will your story lead you next?

Living from the Future

When I look back on the goals I’ve reached and the dreams I’ve actualized, I see a pattern:

They all required me to inhabit the present and the future simultaneously.

When I was studying Spanish, I had to completely immerse myself in the process of learning the impossible (and surrendering to the accompanying brain strain), while also holding to the bright magic of connection and possibility I knew existed on the other side.

When I was an athlete, I had to feel the thrill of strength, power, and speed in my body that didn’t exist yet, while also pushing through exhaustion in practice and giving my energy and focus to the set in front of me.

When I was learning to coach, it was the beautiful vision of my future self - competent, powerful, and magical - that motivated me to volunteer to practice in front of the whole class and risk failing spectacularly.

My dreams require me to be in two places at once.

They ask me to work from the both-and space where the present touches the future.

They pull me toward the imperative of the humble, practical, day-to-day work in front of me now, just as they ask me to do magic and travel through time to feel what is already real in my imagination.

And when I follow these instructions, it starts to feel like I’m not only walking toward the future, but the future is walking toward me, and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle - in that space where grit, presence, groundedness, imagination, and vision all converge into the magic of actualized possibility

Showing up in the World

Two years ago, I was afraid to show up in the world.

I was afraid to take up space. I was afraid to be seen as my real self. I was afraid to tell my story.

I felt the longing, but I was hiding - mostly behind the story that I was just a private, shy person - so why would I even want to bother with stuff like that anyway?

Except that I did want to.

I wanted to be creative and share that creativity with the world.

I wanted to be known as my real self and build relationships and create community from that space.

I knew I had something to say, and I wanted to say it.

And I’d sort of forgotten how I've come with this - until today when someone reflected it back to me. She said: “When I first knew you, I kept confusing you with someone else and didn’t feel like I could get to know you. Today, it’s like you’re a completely different person.”

But it’s not that I’m a different person.

It’s that I’ve deepened my capacity and cultivated the courage to, more and more, show up in the world as I *actually* am - in all my bigness, brilliance, complexity, and truth.

And the world is better for it.

I believe this is true for all of us. When we show up as our real selves, when we tell our stories, when we shine our light - we are bringing something sacred to the world.

And I’m here to tell you that if this feels impossible, it’s not.

We can decide to make a change and then steer our energies in that direction, step by step, in ways that lead to staggering transformation.

And I’m cheering for each and every one of you on that journey.

Because the world needs your light, truth, and brilliance.

Telling Our Stories

Last week, I shared my story about where I’ve landed (for now) in my relationship with Christianity.

Someone reached out to me privately in response and, among other things, asked me why I felt the need to share this story publicly.

There was a brief moment when I felt shame and doubt (maybe it would have been safer to stay hidden, quiet, and small?), but I was relieved to notice this was just a tiny ping inside the bigness of my clarity, knowing, and self-trust.

The answer was obvious and clear. I knew exactly why I needed to share this story.

...Because I believe my story (and stories in general) are worth telling.

...Because I believe I'm entitled to tell the truth about myself and my life. And even deeper, I feel the imperative to do just that.

...Because I knew this particular story had nuance, complexity, and beauty worthy of taking up space in the public sphere. I also guessed it would be useful and resonant to others, which it has been.

...Because I want to be known as my deepest, truest self. I want to live and speak with freedom and openness. I want those who would reject my real self to self-select out of my orbit.

...Because I want someone going through something similar to feel less alone and more empowered to speak and live into *their* truth.

...Because it matters to me that I show up free, deep, brave, and real. That’s a soul imperative.

Know this, friends: your stories change the world, and they are worth telling.

Stories create connection, spark resonance, summon power, and expand imagination.

For the common good, please tell the stories your soul is asking you to share.

I get the discomfort.

Stories are personal and vulnerable.

Sometimes, their power is destabilizing or even shattering.

They spark change, and change is not easy.

But our stories are able to communicate truth, create connection, and catalyze possibility unlike anything else.

So I would encourage you to remember the stories that have done that for you and then challenge yourself to pay it forward by doing the same.

Self-Trust and Devotion

I used to be as Christian as they come.

One of my parents is a pastor. (They say that pastors’ children either go one of two ways: all-out rebel or perfect angel, and I was definitely in the latter category). I went to Bible camp every summer, worked at Bible camp in college, majored in religion, did a Lutheran volunteer year, got an MA in theology, and married a pastor.

I was all in.

It seemed my spiritual destiny was settled.

Until one day, it didn’t make sense anymore.

The best way I can describe it is that Christianity just stopped resonating in my body - like there was no place to plug into it anymore.

It was like Christianity said, “okay, enough; I love you, but you’re done now,” and gently released me.

Often, in stories like these, there’s some great religious trauma or injustice to prompt the exit. Not so much for me.

(I mean you can’t be a Christian as long as I was and never have any run-in’s with heterosexist, patriarchal bullshit - so that definitely happened, but it wasn’t the reason I left).

No, I truly believe I experienced the best Christianity has to offer. And it had a lot to offer.

I loved growing up in the church and having a parent for a pastor. I loved the rhythm of the liturgical calendar. Bible camp was a space of so much magic and mysticism that I got married there. In my academic work, I studied cutting edges of feminist and queer theology (that are rad AF.)

Christianity was a space of deep spiritual connection, love, and growth. It was a place where I was radicalized into justice. And there were so many times I felt alive and on purpose in that space.

Today, I see Christianity as a spiritual ancestor that I continue to love and respect.

And even in my departure, I feel the need to defend it - to say that some of the most devoted and radical progressives I know are Christians (including my favorite borderline biblical fundamentalist rabble-rouser: Jonathan Barker) and that there is so much movement around justice and liberation happening in Christian spaces.

But ultimately, I’m sharing all of this to say:

It’s okay for love and devotion to change.

You can love something and leave it. There doesn’t have to be a deep or dramatic reason. It can be a gentle letting-go.

Sometimes (and for some people), the right thing is devotion to one thing, one path, one destiny forever, and other times (for other people), it’s not.

Sometimes, it’s the right thing to move on. Sometimes, new things call us forward, and we feel the imperative to answer them.

Life is dynamic and unfolding and unpredictable, and so are we.

So trust yourself. Your life is for you, and I truly believe you know best how to live it.

Hope, Capacity, and Possibility

{Thoughts on dealing with climate grief and anxiety in the spirit of sharing hope, discussing strategy, cultivating camaraderie, and imagining possibility}

When grief and anxiety flare, my first step is always grounded presence.

I ask myself: How can I be with myself right now? How can I climb back into my body? How can I not abandon myself when the waves of grief and anxiety come?

This reliably makes me feel better, but it also has the practical benefit of getting me back in touch with my intuition and inner knowing/wisdom so I can take grounded action if/when needed.

Deepening my relationship with death and grief has also helped immensely.

When I remember that death is and will be part of my story, our story, the earth’s story and make peace with that (which I would have had to do anyway, even with a perfectly healthy planet), I feel a little less panicked about the future and more grounded when it comes to my place in the universe.

And when it comes to grief: I’ve noticed that letting it move and do its work in me has this shattering function that opens up empty, liminal space.

And that’s a space I can work with.

I can bring intentionality and agency to that space. I can decide how to use it and what to put inside it (I try to opt for groundedness, possibility, and maybe even hope and magic if I can get there.)

I also remember that uncertainty is my friend.

Because where there is uncertainty, there is mystery and possibility.

So maybe the apocalyptic hellscapes my mind is conjuring don’t quite capture the whole truth.

I try to make mystery a space where my mind can rest in the in-between of not knowing everything and hold space for other possibilities.

And finally, I invest in magic, look for goodness everywhere, and practice feeling awe.

Not to bypass or ignore the hard stuff but to *deepen my capacity for it*.

This is our collective challenge: how can we find a depth of magic that matches the depth of horror?

Seeking the answer to this question is the quest of my life, and whether I succeed or not, it sure feels good and grounding to try.

What Else is True?

One of my best tools for working with problems or thoughts that feel impossible to overcome is the question:

What else is true?

My fears and doubts like to absorb all the oxygen and energy in the room, and rather than arguing with them (which can backfire by taking even more energy), I often look for some other true thing I can give my energy and attention to instead.

It’s a simple discipline of investing in the truths and thoughts that are most life-affirming and practically useful, while divesting from those that are not.

It’s a practice of giving energy to truths, possibilities, and thoughts that inspire some measure of magic, goodness, and possibility.

Not as a way of bypassing or shielding myself from the hard stuff, but as a way of *deepening my capacity* for it.

I practiced this with a client recently. They felt stuck on a problem in their life and kept saying: I’m so bad at this thing. I’ve never succeeded at that thing, and I’m not sure I ever will.

Now, this person is an absolute rockstar, and when I pointed out all of the other truths at play here - all the things they’ve achieved and all the gifts they bring to the table - I felt the energy start to shift.

That problem was still a thing to be dealt with, sure, but in the presence of all of those other *very real* assets and accomplishments, it looked a whole lot smaller and felt a lot less scary.

I also think about the hard stuff happening in the collective. I’m not willing to look away or pretend it’s not happening/doesn’t matter that our government is doing harm or that the climate is changing in catastrophic ways.

*And* what else is true?

It’s also true that people are helping, that love and magic exist, that what we do matters, that there is always more than I can see, that there are things worth living and fighting for...

And when I can focus my energies here, I’m not only happier and more grounded, I’m more helpful, responsive, and present to what’s real around me.

Because energies of magic and possibility (that we can create with our own minds, just by welcoming the *whole* truth) offer a creative, dynamic space.

And it’s a space where we’re far more likely to find unexpected solutions and creative ways forward.

So what else is true? Where does the realness of beauty, magic, and possibility exist for you? And how might you take one small step in its direction?

The Magic in Failure

I was a competitive swimmer in college, and I absolutely loved it.

My first year, I qualified for the national swim meet as part of a relay, and each year that followed, it was my goal to qualify for nationals again.

It didn’t happen the next year or the year after that. And then I arrived at my senior year.

This was my last chance.

I wondered: would I be crushed if I didn’t reach my goal?

I considered this carefully. I wanted the season ahead to be the best one yet, and I also wanted to end this 10-year swimming adventure in a way that felt satisfying and solid.

So maybe I should just forget about my goal? (so that my swimming career wouldn’t end in disappointment.)

But no, the goal was an essential part of my experience, and to fully wring all the goodness out of this last season, I knew I had to embrace the goal more than I ever had.

I had to lean in 100%

And to do this, I had to be willing to fail. I had to open myself to the experience and how much it mattered to me. I had to feel the vulnerability of love, desire, and wanting. I had to give it everything I had and accept the results and feelings that followed.

Now, some of you know how this all turned out. I did fail. I didn’t qualify for the national swim meet.

And that was a hard thing.

But it wasn’t a devastating thing.

Because I had made the decision ahead of time that I would risk this very outcome in order to have the experience I wanted.

And this decision to step forward into possibility, uncertainty, and desire opened up so much space.

It made swimming something more than it ever was, and it changed me forever.

This is the magic of failure - of risking it, welcoming it, and willingly stepping into spaces where it might exist.

It expands our edges, makes us bigger, and deepens our lives.

Only you can know if risking failure is worth it and right for you in any given situation, but if your fear is always and immediately telling you it’s not, I’d encourage you to take another look.

There’s probably magic that’s waiting for you to say yes, take that risk, and step forward.